Originals
by Tucker Carroll
Summary: Original short stories - trying out new styles and storylines


-Preface-

Had they ever been together like this, she wondered, alone in a room full of strangers – music playing just loudly enough that the fellow patrons of this seemingly popular after-work restaurant were able to speak to one another without their words being easily eavesdropped by others. To their right, past an empty table, were a couple of young men – crisp suits, ever-wet messy hair, faces still so fresh that she could easily see them as teenagers – they were laughing as they traded a cell phone back and forth, their fingers moving to the screen in quick flicks and their alcohol glazed eyes wide with amusement. Nothing like him. Sure, he was drinking, but he made it all look so easy – a long neck bottle to his lips tightened her torso. His square jaw and handsome face matured to a rugged, yet classy, look of masculinity. His dark eyes sparkled in the neon lighting from the bar behind her, his thick black hair a mess from his hands made her want to nuzzle her face against it, inhale the scent of him.

He noticed her eyes cutting towards the young men and for a small moment, there was a twinge of heat in his gut – a stabbing of some emotion he wasn't used to feeling and would never admit to – being jealous of her eyes on other men when he had no claim to her was ridiculous, right? They were co-workers, he would love to consider her at the very least a friend, but he was unsure of how she felt about him. There were times he would find her eyes on him from across the conference table and he felt so confident that the yearning he carried for her was reciprocal. There was a smile that she had only for him, he thought, possibly a shy smile – one that curved onto her face while he headed this meeting or that conference, or debated down his opponent – a smile that made his chest feel thick with pride and his hands sometimes numb. Other times it was if he annoyed her, as if his presence alone was enough to drag her day down to an over-all pain the ass. In the three years they'd worked together, of course two strong willed people such as themselves would butt heads and yet somehow they'd never let it get too out of hand. He had a reputation of being cut-throat, of being able to widdle down his competition with a verbal assault and many times he'd felt that burning anger when she'd confronted him about sales costs, double-checked his figures and debated his facts – but her voice somehow kept him calm, her easy demeanor an antidote to his rapid fire ways.

Then there were the handful of times they'd spent together after the meetings and after the client calls and while able to intertwine their work selves with their true, more relaxed personas. All those times, safe in numbers while surrounded by their other co-workers, they'd found an ease in their conversation. He loved how she laughed as if she hadn't a care in the world and she found his mind to be magnificent, his intelligence drew him to her – deeper with every conversation they'd had. And like many of their co-workers, they'd flirt a little… nothing too risqué usually, just that one time in LA where she had drank too many celebratory mimosa's and he'd nearly forgotten the promise he'd made to himself to be a good man and they laid in the floor of her hotel room listening to music and playing an increasingly dirty version of twenty questions that went on the entire night – daylight peeking in through the window the only reason they'd ended the game.

But this night, in the hotel bar it was just him and just her – just her honest belly laughs and the way she bit her lip as she listened to him speak. Just him and his eyes that made her feel shy and his square jaw and the way his confidence seemed to wrap around her – turning down her rational mind when he sat too close or drank from her glass or made a joke that she knew her husband would not appreciate. When the others left after dinner, he stayed. Ignoring the rollercoaster like fear squeezing her lungs, she too stayed. She drank when he drank. She listened when he talked about his wife. She felt the pain that he'd tried to hide in his eyes when he told of his pending divorce and of the sadness he felt for their son. He'd never spoke to anyone about it – but her wide eyes made him honest and the break in his fronting demeanor felt like finally exhaling.

Too many hours later, the music was louder and the crowd was thicker and they felt as if the world was encapsulating them - an increasing tension flowing between them. She thumbed at her phone, it was late. She should have checked in with her husband by now, but she didn't want to leave her seat, his presence. Now sitting next to one another, their legs gently touching and his arm looped behind hers – he takes her phone without any sort of balk from her at all, just the cutting of her eyes to his face – his mouth to be exact – a soft sigh released through her smile.

"You don't have to go." As always, he spoke confidently, in a way that held her attention. Was it obvious, she wondered, the internal struggle she's been waging with herself – to go to her room and end this sparking between them. The fun banter they shared. The ever-present hint of something more. "Or I can come with you." Her lungs caught, "We can rent a movie and take out the mini bar." He laughed the way he did – deep and slow, masculine.

Regaining her composure a bit, she held out her hand for her phone – "It's late. Really late. I have an early flight so yea, I should go."

With an easy shrug, he placed her phone in her hand, his finger tips stopping for too long against the palm of her hand – a pulse of electricity shooting through her arm, forcing her eyes to his face.

He was looking at the profile curve of her lips when her head turned and his gaze was met with her hazel eyes. He'd felt it – that same vibe of adrenaline that he remembered feeling every time he'd done something he shouldn't have. Not necessarily guilt, but something akin to it mixed with a heavy dose of want. He knew why she looked surprised, caught off guard, but she was so sweetly honest that he wanted to hear her say it.

Putting her on the spot, he asked, "what?" though an innocent smile, a hunger brewing inside of him; A longing to cross that line a bit more, as far as she would allow for as long as she would play along.

"You can't…" She pulled her hand from his, tucking both of her hands beneath her legs – the thought that she had to literally capture hands made him eager to press on, to find out why she didn't trust her own extremities while in his company. "We work together and –"

"I'm not asking you to do anything." He tried to frown, but so happy was he to see the effect he had on her that the frown was barely less than a grin. "I'd never force you do anything you didn't want to do." Like she'd done fifty times before in the years they'd known each other, she pulled the corner of her full bottom lip into her mouth, her teeth pressing lightly on the flesh as she sucked lightly on the curve. The alcohol was giving him more courage than he needed, allowing his eyes to move on their own will to what caught their attention – he watched her nervous gesture for a long moment. Long enough to begin to feel envious of her bottom lip. "But you can't keep doing that." Sucking harder, confused, her brow lowered a bit. "I've watched you suck on your lip like that for years and If you're telling me to back off, you can't keep doing that to me."

Releasing her lip from her teeth, she covered her blushing smile with her hands – fingers relaxed, allowing him to see her face with her eyes closed and mouth slightly open and he felt more determined than ever to have her in any way that she'd allow. "Ugh, I've got to go…" She giggled, sliding away from him and out of the booth – shattering their seclusion as she moved to her feet. "Now."

"Why now?" He asked, grasping for a way to keep her there. With him. Near him. Against him.

Stopping, she looked around the crowded bar, standing tall and pulling her long wavy hair into a low pony tail at the base of her neck as she released a heavy exhale. He'd never understood her theory of never lying, but he'd grown to thoroughly enjoy it and had learned how to use it for his advantage.

Her hesitation told him a lot – more than she wanted him to know – but was there much use in denying it? He already knew. How could he not? "Before I do something with you that I'll regret."

And as honest as she was, she was also caring and kind, and loyal to a fault, he'd come to find. She was his replica – a reflection of the kind of person he wanted to be, that he used to be, that he could be again… maybe? With her. He could be a good man again. He could forget about the insulting ways of his soon to be exwife, he could forgive her for they many times she'd gone outside their marriage while he stayed ever devoted to her. With the help of this woman, he could feel again.

"You'd regret it?" He asked her, as if he somehow knew she was lying. "You would regret us?"

She shook her head – wishing she was a better liar, wishing she'd made a different promise to herself than to always choose complete honesty. With fluid legs, she sat down – choosing the other side of the booth for safeties sake. "I would regret hurting my husband…" She said quietly, looking directly into his eyes from across the table, unsure how anyone could have such dark blue eyes – wondering if maybe they were actually so black that they were blue. "I would regret being _that person._"

He understood – he knew what kind of woman _that person_ was better than most and was sure she was not any where near such low character. "Don't think of yourself like that – ever. You're not that kind of a woman." Suddenly feeling somewhat badly for playing his game on her like he had so many easier women since he'd left his wife, he wanted to make sure she knew that he did not think of her in such a sleezy way. "I knew I had very little chance with you," giving that laugh again, she smiled too, "but you can't blame me for trying." They chuckled a bit at his joke, but the bit of ease that had come over them was being sucked away once more – their lag in conversation feeling heavy. "Look, I didn't mean to change anything between us. I don't want it to be like this."

Words escaped her mouth before she could filter them, "We both know what we want it to be like." her eyes watching as her fingers twisted a small white napkin into a thin, tight rope.

Yes. He did. He wanted her for his. In every way imaginable, he wanted this woman to belong to him. But with all the raging need to have her, there was a voice of conscience in his ear that he'd not heard in a long while – a voice telling him to let her go. Don't make it harder for her to do what she feels is the right thing. Don't change this pure being into something dirtier out a selfish desire.

So he sat still. His lips pursed shut. His teeth clenched tight. His blue-black eyes alive with a million emotions and set on her face – a face that he was sure would haunt him for years to come.

Mistaking the hard look on his handsome face for disappointment, anger maybe, she apologized with a nervous laugh, pulling her hair to one shoulder and raking her fingertips through the wavy tangles. Hoping to settle the tension, she tried a joke as she pulled her purse onto her shoulder, "I'm going to go now, before I can't stop myself from finding out what you would do to me."

He didn't laugh at her inappropriate joke. Too scared of her own reaction to look at him, she started to get up – to leave as she knew she should, as she should have done hours ago. Her legs had barely lifted her from the seat when his voice – strong and confident – pulled her eyes to him and stopped her in place.

"I'd kiss your forehead." She smiled even though his face was serious, a small wrinkle between his pursed eyebrows, that dark gaze looking just above her eyes. "Right below your hairline, I'd kiss your forehead and let my nose be tickled by your hair and I'd smell your shampoo." She blinked rapidly, both confused by what he was doing and moved by his tender words. "And I'd hold your face in my hands – gently –" He raised his right hand just slightly from the table, his fingers curved a bit, as if he were imagining exactly what he was saying. Imagining it in the same way she was doing – her heart pounding in her chest. "with just my fingers touching your skin. And I'd kiss just below your eyes." He smiled, as if he found his own thoughts to be silly. "because I want to know what your lashes feel like against my lips." Moved, and turned on, she looked away and gave her nervous laugh, catching him rubbing his mouth and chin harshly with his open hand as if to wipe away the phantom sensation of her eyelashes – a bright smile on his beautiful face. She thought he was finished – disappointed – and was filled with joy when he rested his face in his hand in this shy way that she'd never seen from him before, opening his sweet lips to continue. "Then I'd graze my lips over your lips and pray that you would kiss me back. That you'd let me taste you. That you'd let me suck on your lip like I've watched you do, longingly, so many times." Again they laughed – hers a bit more breathless than before. "I'd kiss your neck. Because I think you'd like that…" He stated, half question, answered by the hard swallow he watched move down her slender throat. "Below your ear. Your jaw line, just there." Tilting his head, his eyes felt nearly tangible as her imagination gave animation to his words. "I'd bite you. Drag my teeth against your skin. Hungry for your body because you'd be pressed against me, your soft breath in my ear telling me how much you enjoy my mouth." She wanted to look away from him. To stop watching his full lips forming such salacious words, but she couldn't – She was captured in his gaze and held tightly by his voice and tortured so sweetly by the visions in her mind. "I'd spend a long while learning your body. How you like you be touched… where I can be rough." Her lungs froze, her chin trembled. "I'd kiss every inch your skin… your beautiful, soft skin." His voice was light, as if he were speaking of a dream, his eyes moving over each part of her body that he spoke of. "From your small shoulders, to what I imagine are perfect pink nipples," stopping for a moment, he licked his lips, sending a wave of heat through her body. "I'd start off gentle, but I'd soon figure out you're not all that into gentle are you?" She shook her head no, almost involuntarily, almost able to feel his mouth on her breasts. "And I'd slip my fingers into you. Slowly. Really feeling you. How wet you are for me right now." Again, her head nod to confirm his suspicion came without her brain telling her to do so – he'd somehow taken over her body and senses with his words alone. She was hardly able to stay seated, barely able to control herself and stay away from him, just capable of keeping any of the moans from her imagination from actually escaping her lips. "You' d be slick against my fingertips. Tight." His voice lowered with the word and the sound and the thoughts closed her eyes though she could feel his gaze still on her, wondering over her body like a warm wind. "And I'd want you so badly that I ache… I ache for you." He aches for me, she thought, nothing more than liquid and nerves and shaky breathing that all wanted all of him. "And I'd make love to you for hours. I'd tell you how beautiful you are and how you make me feel like a good man and how I want to live inside of you. How I want to shoot you into my veins so I never have to be without you. And I'd hold you against me when you came – _every_ _time you came for me.._. And when I thought you couldn't take it any more, I'd fill you up…" Breathing heavily, her lips slightly parted, silently panting for him now, she opened her eyes and found his hungry eyes looking at her still – right at her face, watching her imagining him. Somehow, she wanted him more from just the look on his face. "I'd make you mine in the most carnal way… you'd be mine and I'd love you for the rest of my life."

Silently, they looked at one another for a long moment – long enough for her to catch her breath and for her heart rate to slow to a more manageable rate, for him to relax his flexed back and chest, for him to remind himself that she is not his – she's married.

Finally finding the strength in her legs to stand, she moved out of the booth for a second time that night – her entire body trembling, his hope against hope crushed. She was going to leave, he had expected nothing less.

"I…" She said quietly.

Giving a nod, he told her he understood without saying anything at all.

"Goodnight." She said through a weak, tired, almost sad smile.

With another nod, he pressed his lips together tightly, repressing his want for her, his thirst to taste her, "Goodnight."

**-This is an excerpt from an original story that I'm writing. I'd like to know if you guys are interested in reading my original stuff and thought this might be a good way for you to get an idea. I write – A LOT – I just don't always write fan fic. **

**So please let me know what you think… want more?**

****Follow me at IChooseStefan on twitter **


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